


Tales from the Keep

by M_Moonshade



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Very Scientific sex, auxiliary smut, knight vale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of deleted scenes and one-shots from the world of Medieval Night Vale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Remediation and Data Collection

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Victorian Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530602) by [Dangersocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks), [Maiden_of_the_Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/pseuds/Maiden_of_the_Moon). 



> There is a big difference between what I want to write and what would actually serve the needs of the story. A lot of times, I want to write something smutty, but it would either distract hopelessly from the point or completely derail everything I'd set up before then, so I'm forced to leave it out. 
> 
> That's why I'm posting this, inspired in part by Victorian Secrets from Maiden-of-the-Moon and Dangersocks' Resurrection Lily universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This excerpt references what happened in [Chapter Six of Shadows of Azoth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2067807/chapters/4804212). If you want to have a full understanding, that's the place to go check it out. If not, I think it's fairly easy to follow regardless.

It’s a casual conversation when Carlos lets slip that their first time together was his first time in general. He thinks it’s an interesting bit of trivia, and so he’s unprepared for the look of horror on Earl’s face. Like this is some great crime, a travesty. Carlos tries to soothe him, to explain that it’s no big deal, but Earl is affronted on his behalf. It should have been special-- it should have felt good-- he should have had the chance to enjoy himself, instead of fearing for his partner’s sanity. Still Carlos insists that it’s fine. It’s perfectly fine, really. That secretly he enjoyed the rush of watching Earl come apart. The satisfaction of knowing he, and not Kevin, was the one who’d done it. The thrill of giving commands and watching them so eagerly obeyed.

Earl looks away, and it draws Carlos’ attention to the detail he overlooked before.

“Do you… like… getting orders?” he asks. Tentative. Quiet. “From me?”

Carlos wonders if there’s a branch of divination that involves reading the patterns of another man’s blush. He thinks he’d be very good at it.

Earl mutters that there is a travesty at hand and it’s his duty to rectify it. Without the interference of soul-stealing Oracles, preferably.

Carlos hides his face behind steepled fingers, because he should definitely not look nearly as amused or intrigued as he’s certain he does. “Well, if it would appease your sense of honor.”

* * *

 

The night itself is perhaps less streamlined than had been anticipated. This is a Matter That Must Be Rectified, after all, which isn’t exactly erotic even when Carlos mumbles an immature joke about extraneous letters.

“Erectified,” he mutters under his breath. “I thought it was funny. A little bit. Maybe.”

It’s gonna be a long night.

By committee of mumbling and awkward suggestions, they decide that just taking their clothes off and going at it is unsexy enough to be entirely out of the question. That’s one of the unsung perks of desperation: in the heat of the moment, your mind is too busy racing to worry about things like self-consciousness and discomfort. Here, with no pressure and no danger to get in the way, those things are all too obvious.

“Just… relax, okay?” Earl says. “Think of it as an experiment.”

That gets Carlos’ attention. He forgets sometimes just how closely the Eternal Scout has been watching him.

“We’ll try different variables. You’ll tell me the results-- what you like, what you don’t, what doesn’t feel right, all that. And we can proceed from there, all right?”

“Extrapolate from the data?” Carlos suggests.

“Exactly.”

Carlos feels himself begin to relax. On some level he realizes that Earl is reframing the situation, the way Carlos had done with him before, and it works just as well now as it did then. Experiments are familiar. They’re Science.

“Being scientific, we should move along a logical progression.” Earl reaches pointedly for Carlos’ hand. “If you would?” Carlos gives it to him, and Earl presses a gentle kiss to Carlos’ knuckles. A sweet thrill runs up the alchemist’s arm. “How’s that?”

Carlos gives a tiny nod.

“I want you to pay careful attention to your body,” Earl informs him in a half-parody of a proper scientist. “In these matters, clarity and accuracy of results is key.”

“Naturally.” Carlos doesn’t hide a small smile. “It’s-- good. Pleasant.”

“Much better.” Earl turns Carlos’ hand over and lays a second kiss against the palm.

‘That-- that’s also good.”

“Maybe we should use a numerical scale,” Earl muses.

“Using what as a baseline?” Carlos asks. “What increments? What would be the maximum figure?”

“On second thought, description works fine.” The next kiss brushes the inside of Carlos’ wrist, and he can feel Earl’s lips twist into a sardonic smile against his skin.

They follow a line up Carlos’ arm, across the sensitive line of his collar, his throat, his jaw, his ear. When he kisses Carlos’ mouth, he repeats the experiments several times-- for veracity, of course-- each time adjusting the pressure of his lips, the patterns of his tongue, the placement of his hands. Each change of position is given feedback, growing more articulate as the two grow bolder.

“Oh, that’s good,” becomes “Right there-- do that again,” which turns into “ _Oh_ yes, just like that.”

One combination in particular resonates with Carlos: a knee grinding into his thigh while Earl sucks hard on his tongue. He pulls away just enough to speak clearly, his voice dark and commanding. “Get on your knees.”

Earl’s eyes darken, and the tip of his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His whole face is a shade darker than it was before as he descends.

Oh yes. That data is definitely worth collecting.


	2. Baiting the Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earl and Carlos prepare to catch a monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a scene that I had wanted to include during [ chapter 7 of Shadows of Azoth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2067807/chapters/4996371). Unfortunately, I had Carlos entirely too confident to work in this context, so I had to cut it.

Earl sat on the bed, his head bent, his brow furrowed. He thought deeply on his mission. He tried hard not think deeply on how little clothing he was wearing, or to what other uses the olive oil in Carlos’ hands could be put.

“This branch of magic isn’t exactly my specialty,” the alchemist admitted, wrapping both hands around the neck of the bottle to prise loose a particularly tight cork. “But I’d rather send you out with as much protection as I can.” The cork came loose with a low pop, and the sudden release sent a splash of oil across Carlos’ hands.

Earl averted his eyes, but Carlos seemed entirely unperturbed by the obscene display. Probably because there _wasn’t_ anything obscene about opening a bottle. It was just Earl’s overactive imagination, turning every mundane action into a lewd gesture.

 _You’re off to a great start, Harlan,_ he thought miserably. There was nothing quite like getting himself all riled up right before he went out to face Kevin. That would end well.

Carlos prepared the oil, and Earl tried to focus on the meanings of the herbs in the alchemist’s hands. Essence of yarrow for strength, hazel for wisdom, Valerian for protection, and powdered carnelian as a shield. Apparently satisfied, Carlos dipped his fingertips into the mixture and traced them across Earl’s forehead, following the abstract lines of protective runes. The oil was cool enough to raise a shiver across the Eternal Scout’s skin.

“Just a little bit more,” Carlos murmured. The oil beaded and dripped in thin stripes down Earl’s temples, following the lines of his face.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here?” Earl asked, just to make conversation. It was hard to keep his mind blank when Carlos was dragging a slick finger across Earl’s bicep. “Oil can be a real pain to wash out. Wouldn’t want it to get on the bed.”

“It won’t be the worst thing the laundresses have had to scrub out of the bedsheets,” Carlos said. “They’re very good at what they do. I’m sure they’ll be able to handle it.”

Earl tried very hard not to think about things well-handled and fluids that might stain a bed. Carlos moved even closer, drawing detailed sigils down Earl’s ribs, his stomach, his hips.

“Turn around for me,” the alchemist said, with the absurd composure of a man who hadn’t yet shifted his gaze three inches down to notice a very obvious bulge. “I want to get your back.”

Earl, ever the soldier, hurried to obey. He could pretend he wasn’t relieved at the chance to hide his arousal, or the fact that Carlos’ attentions had turned to the slightly more neutral territory of Earl’s shoulders.

“I need a better angle,” Carlos insisted, gently pushing Earl to lean forward and brace against the bed with both hands.

I’m sure you do, the Scout did not say. This was for a mission, after all, so he arched his back and leaned deeper into the bed. The better for Carlos to draw, he told himself.

Hand-heated oil drew feathery patterns down Earl’s spine. Carlos was standing closer behind him now, so close they were touching, and his drawings were losing focus. Every few seconds he curled back to trace his fingers along the small of Earl’s back, and then he leaned forward to dab a few drops along the Scout’s shoulderblades. Back and forth, back and forth, and with every movement Earl could feel the contours of the alchemist’s body.

And maybe it was just his imagination, but some of those contours felt harder than others.

“What are you doing back there?” Earl tried to ask it lightly, but his voice came out strained. He might have joked that Carlos should’ve bought him a drink first, but he knew all too well that he was past that point.

“Just adding the finishing touches,” Carlos hummed. Oh yes, Earl could use a finishing touch right about now.

He choked on the thought. “Do you think you could give me a bit more breathing room while you do that?” he asked. “This is getting a bit--”

“I know.” Carlos massaged Earl’s hip with an unoiled palm. “And I’m sorry. But if you’re going to act as bait for Kevin, he has to believe that you’re… ah… concupiscent enough to seek him out.”

Earl’s hand fisted in the sheet. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Oh, is that all?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Don’t you think you could’ve let me in on this part of the plan before you started rutting against me like that?”

“Probably.” Carlos leaned in, and Earl was most definitely not imagining the sudden pressure there. “But I didn’t want you thinking about him while I did.”

“Still.” He swallowed a stutter. It was getting hard to breathe. “Sending me out to face him when I’m c-compromised. Maybe not the best strategy.”

“Not compromised.” A tender hand brushed Earl’s throat. Tugged at Earl’s jaw. Tilted his head back so soft lips could whisper into his ear. “No. I have faith in you, Earl. I know how strong you are. How clever. And if you do well-- if you do as well as I know you can-- I’ll make it worth the wait.”


	3. Magnum Opus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was written early on, when I was getting seriously frustrated with Knight Vale for not having room for smut.
> 
> At the time, I was researching the theories and philosophies that went into medieval alchemy so I could better write Carlos as an alchemist. During my research, I learned that sulfur, mercury and salt are pretty much the holy trinity of elements in alchemy, though often salt is excluded from the three in order to make a yin/yang pair out of mercury and sulfur. Naturally, I associate Carlos with sulfur, Cecil with mercury, and Earl with salt. Magnum Opus refers to the process of making a philosopher’s stone, which involves combinations of all three.
> 
> Given that, I read [this line](http://www.quintessentialalchemy.com/alchemicalworld.html) and I couldn’t _not_ read it in a sexual sense:
> 
>  
> 
> **"The Alchemical Sulphur directs the Mercury through the Salt."**

 

 

Of the three of them, only Carlos was covered, swathed in trails of crimson silk, while golden bangles clinked on his ankles and wrists. More gold wrapped around his ears, his hair, his throat-- he was adorned like a god.

Their god.

And they lived to make him smile.

Earl writhed at his feet, his forehead grinding into the soft rug, his hands clawing with the need to grab hold of _something_ , whimpering with every new motion.

Cecil knelt behind him, one hand firm on Earl’s hips to keep him in place, the other slowly working him open. Every new stretch was followed by a flick of tongue: quick and cool to counteract the slow burn.

Their master’s alchemy.

Carlos swung one leg lazily over the throne, lazily tracing a finger over his own erection through the silk. They saw, from the corners of their eyes, and they knew he was pleased.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, and Cecil pulled away from the other man.

“No!” Earl sobbed, jerking at the sudden absence. “No, please-- I need-- please, god, I need--”

Carlos tilted his head. “Do you need to stop?”

“No, no, please don’t stop…”

A long, languid grin stretched across Carlos’ face. “Cecil,” he purred.

The king turned his way, attentive and adoring, and Carlos almost shuddered at the bloom of raw power in his chest. He could do anything like this. Absolutely anything. And he’d make it good for them.

“Cecil, get inside him. Slowly.”

Earl’s back arched as the king slid into him, barely an inch at a time.

“Please,” the soldier begged. “More, I need more-- please--” His voice went ragged as Cecil buried himself up to the root. For a long, lovely moment, Earl was speechless and groaning, his fists clenched tight as he adjusted to the pressure.

Slowly, slowly, that tight grip unwound, and his hips began to move.

“Earl,” Carlos warned, low and irrefutable. Instantly the soldier’s hips went still.

“I’m ready,” Earl whispered. “I’m so ready. Please move. I need more. Just a little more.”

Cecil turned to Carlos for permission, and his smiling god traced a finger thoughtfully across the band of gold at his throat.

“Wait,” he said finally.

Cecil lay one hand on the small of Earl’s back in reassurance, but otherwise he remained perfectly still. Earl continued to gasp and shudder until slowly, slowly, his breathing settled. He shifted ever so slightly, his pose a little less undignified and a little more collected: a kowtow before Carlos’ throne.

Carlos grinned and sat up, reaching out to card his hand through Earl’s hair. “Very good, Earl. You are both so very good.” He climbed to his feet and stepped past Earl, his silks trailing across the soldier’s back, and he cupped Cecil’s cheek in his hand. “Shall I reward you?”

“Please,” Earl gasped. Cecil said nothing, merely pressing his face into Carlos’ palm.

Carlos leaned down to kiss Cecil’s silent mouth.

His lips curled into a wicked grin. “Fuck him hard.”

The first thrust was so sharp that it nearly sent Earl’s head into the chair, but the soldier could only gasp. The second thrust came just as hard: a snap of the hips, a slap of flesh on flesh, a gasp of pleasure. Cecil set a pace that was fast and intense, almost merciless, but Earl could take it. More than that, he revelled in it, rocking his hips to meet every blow with a groan.

Carlos circled around again and knelt between Earl’s head and the base of his throne.

“Earl,” he purred, taking the soldier’s face in his hands. For a moment those lips parted and he tipped his head toward Carlos’ cock, but Carlos pulled him further up, until Earl had to brace himself on the floor with his hands. “My sweet, brave Earl. My salt of the earth.”

Earl shuddered at the title. Raw hunger pooled behind his half-drawn lids.

Behind him, Cecil’s pace grew more erratic. His face grew tight-- but Carlos reached past Earl and put a finger to his lips.

“Not yet,” he said. “Be patient, my quicksilver king.”

The snap of Cecil’s hips regained some of their rhythm, but his fingers dug into Earl’s waist, clinging on for dear life.

Carlos flicked his tongue across the sweat that beaded Earl’s forehead: an anointing. “I can taste the salt on your skin, Earl.” One hand remained cupped around Earl’s face while the other slid down his chest. “I can feel it pumping through your veins.” His hand kept going, following a trail of fine hair. Carlos leaned in to whisper into his ear: “Will you give it to me?” His fingers closed tight against Earl’s length, twisting, pulling. “Will you let me taste what you have inside you?”

“Yes,” Earl gasped. “Please-- Carlos, please-- let me--”

Behind him, Cecil’s eyes were desperate and wide and impossibly dark. His mouth hung open, but he wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t breathe.

Carlos tilted his head, dark and dangerous and smiling, and said to both: “ _Then come._ ”

Release struck them like chain lightning: Cecil stuttered and spasmed like a man electrocuted, a wordless cry ripped from his throat as he poured himself into Earl. Earl fell silent, grabbing at Carlos’ biceps as he fucked himself into the alchemist’s hand-- once, twice, and then a shuddering gasp as he spent. He was a strong man; there would likely be bruises there in the morning, but the thought only made Carlos grin.

They were such strong men, both of them. But here they were, worshipping at Carlos’ feet and begging him for release, panting against each other in the wake of their orgasm.

“You’ve both done so well,” Carlos purred. With his clean hand, Carlos pushed off the floor and settled himself back into his chair. The other was smeared with white, and he lifted it to his lips. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Cecil and Earl went still, even though they had to cling to each other to remain steady. They watched with rapt attention as Carlos’ tongue flicked out, brimstone wicked, and lapped the release from his palm.

“ _Mmmm_ .” He licked his lips, all too aware of the thin veneer he left there. “So _very_ good. And such lovely obedience should be rewarded.” He spread his knees, his member bobbing behind its shroud of crimson silk, and looked them each in the eye.

“Take what you want.”


	4. A note on the punishment of bandits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some dubcon in this section, so if that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip it.
> 
> As far as timeline, this takes place in some vague time period after the end of the series. Vaguely. 
> 
> Lukas isn't a character you've seen before, so don't think you've missed anything. He's my attempt at The Man Who Is Not Tall.

Now that Earl and Carlos are mostly human again, they have to deal with inconveniences that they apparently neglected before. Like eating on a regular basis. Carlos still forgets, dwindling into dizziness and incoherence before Dana forces a plate in front of him, which he devours like a man half starved. Which, scientifically speaking,  he is.

Earl is more proactive about the matter. He spends more and more time in the kitchen-- and then in the training yard, working off the gut that his new hobby is gaining him.

Both of them practically glow with the vibrancy of being fully alive.

Earl starts bringing them things, with the same eager pride of a dog retrieving game from a river (and, at times, just as much mess). Wheatless bread and butter, at first, then pastries full of fruit and clotted cream, then rich meat pies. Every week he grows bolder, more creative. The head cook complains that he'll drive her out of a job, but she's got an entire palace to feed, and so she doesn't complain too loudly.

Carlos never misses a meal when Earl caters.

* * *

 

They picnic sometimes, when Cecil can get away and Carlos can find things to study in the outdoors. Sometimes the other two accompany him in his explorations. Sometimes they linger behind and amuse themselves while he's occupied, at least until he notices them and promptly amuses himself right along with them.

It's not a perfect system, of course.

Alone and intimate in the wild parts of the kingdom is a dangerous place to be. You never know who might be passing by.

Like this time, for example. Cecil is in the middle of giving his compliments to the chef when Earl goes an entirely different kind of rigid. Footsteps are moving through the underbrush, and they're not the halting, excited paces of an alchemist mid discovery.

He pulls Cecil off him (albeit with a reluctant moan from the king that makes it unfairly difficult to focus) and tucks himself back in. Just because Cecil jokes about him charging into battle naked doesn't mean it's something he's eager to try.

* * *

 

The alchemist isn't afraid. That should have been the first clue. He looks merely concerned when Lukas presses his dagger into the man’s throat.

"Careful with that," he says. "Someone could get hurt. "

"That's the idea, " Lukas growls. “A man dressed like you ain't out in his own.” Proper rogues say _ain't_. Bad grammar is a sign of malice, at least until you get into the realm of true evil, when you start enunciating everything very deliberately and usually with a sexy accent-- and Lukas isn't nearly that far gone. "Take me to your friends and I might let you live."

"Are you sure about that? They're probably occupied. I think they'd appreciate privacy."

"Unless they'd appreciate a new hole in your gut, you'll take me to them.” Was that villainous enough? Lukas goes over his mental checklist-- he thinks that’s about right. Maybe?

The alchemist isn’t much help; he just sighs, shrugs, and starts walking, dragging his feet through the underbrush.

Lukas grabs him by the shoulder and gives him a shake. “You’re trying to warn them. I'm onto your game."

"Trust me, you want them warned. "

"You think this is funny, huh? You some kind of clown?"

"No, I'm an alchemist." But he's quieter as he leads Lukas through the trees.

Maybe some warning would have been nice after all. A red-haired man in military uniform is draped across a blanket in the center of the clearing, leaning on his elbows, his head thrown back, his legs splayed wide. Another man perches between his thighs, his face buried in the other's groin, filling the clearing with obscene slurping and basso moans.

A silver crown lays nonchalantly beside them, set aside without apparent care for the fact that it could buy a small city.

The kneeling man-- the one eagerly sucking off the other-- is dressed in silks and brocade, with silver chains and jeweled rings and a cloak pin that might be an enormous diamond. Which doesn't make sense. Rich people don't do things like this. They don't blow other people, they hire someone else to blow them. That's how it works, right?

Lukas had been staring so long that the soldier had finally notices him. Watches coolly, looking from Lukas to the alchemist and back. With a silent motion he signals for his companion to stop. The companion whines, but the other noises fade.

Thank God. It was getting hard to think.  

“Carlos," the soldier asks evenly. "Are you hurt? "

"I'm fine," the hostage says. “Sorry about the interruption, but this man wouldn't be persuaded to hold off.”

"As long as you're not hurt." Something shifts in the soldier’s expression, and it isn't until he notices its absence that Lukas recognizes the sound of murder about to happen.

He’s too busy recalibrating his fear of the soldier to notice the king opening his mouth.

" **You**." The words wrap around Lukas like coils of rope, scraping and squeezing the life out of him. He'd flinch, but suddenly he can't move. " **You will not harm him. Put down your weapon.** " There is no choice. No will in the matter. The dagger is lowered harmlessly to the ground. “ **You will not move until I allow it.** ”

Lukas is starting to think he might be in over his head. Luckily (maybe?) the two have turned their attention to the alchemist, checking him thoroughly for injury. Very thoroughly.

The last time Lukas checked, first aid didn’t require quite that much touching. They’re talking in voices so hushed that their tones are obscured, so when Carlos falls to his knees before the soldier, Lukas isn’t sure whether the alchemist is being comforted or punished. Maybe both. Or maybe he’s persuading the soldier to do… something.

It’s getting hard to think clearly. Again. Because for the second time in maybe five minutes, Lukas is watching an absurdly attractive man swallow another absurdly attractive man’s cock, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about it. Not that he could do anything if he did know, because he’s frozen, statue-like, watching them.

The king curls around the soldier’s back, his hands roaming across the soldier’s chest and tangling in the alchemist’s hair.

“That’s right, Carlos,” the king purrs with a voice that could melt gold. “Show Earl just how much you love it. It’s such a good, sweet cock. So beautiful, so smooth. And such a lovely curve. It’s a treat, wrapping your lips around such a thing of beauty. It’s a treat to watch you do it, lovely Carlos. But do you know what else is a treat?” A tug on Carlos’ hair pulls him back, and Lukas is at just the right angle to see the expression of raw hunger on his face as he’s forced away from that absolutely gorgeous specimen of manhood. The king wraps his hand around Earl’s penis and continues: “Watching him come on your face. Watching it drip into your mouth. Would you like that, my beautiful Carlos?”

The alchemist nods breathlessly. A few yards away, Lukas would like nothing more than to give voice to that need-- except maybe to start touching his own straining member-- but he can’t move. Can’t speak. Can only watch, helpless, as the king treats himself.

Earl crumples beside Carlos, petting and cooing while the king takes his place inside Carlos’ mouth. Because by god, they’re going to do it again. Right here, right now, with Carlos’ face painted with cum, and it’s smearing into the king’s groin as Carlos goes wild. Gone is the worshipful care he used with Earl-- now he seems absolutely ravenous, almost animal in his need to take and take and take--

Lukas isn’t sure which man he’d rather be right now. Only that he wants-- wants so bad he hurts-- but he can’t touch himself. Can’t get relief. Can’t even beg for mercy, because this is torture. Beautiful, terrible torture, and he can’t decide whether he wants them to stop or to keep going forever. Either desire might kill him from sheer frustration.

He’s not sure how the soldier did it, but Earl’s somehow underneath Carlos, rearranging them without interrupting the other two. The transition is seamless, and now Carlos is rutting furiously against his thighs, growling and moaning and oh holy fuck!

The king pulls off, and with a wrenching cry he splashes Carlos with another wave of come. The alchemist licks the salt-sweetness from his lips, howling, writhing, until he too finds release, and collapses in a shivering heap on top of Earl.

For a long while the three men hold each other, exchanging murmured words that Lukas doesn’t have the clarity to understand even if he could hear them. He needs to come. He needs it. He can’t stand this much longer, but they completely ignore him, blissful in their own satisfaction.

He’s on the verge of despair as he watches them tenderly clean each other off and gather the last supplies from their picnic. They might just leave him here forever, trapped in this damnable forest for the rest of his life.

They’ve almost left the clearing completely when the king affords him a glance-- the first one since Lukas was first frozen in place. “ **One hour from now, you will be free to move again**.” And, with a voice more human and less like a tightening noose: “I recommend you use that freedom wisely.”


End file.
